


catch me when i'm falling for you

by hydrochaeris



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Sharing a Bed, aka the only three tropes i've ever written, blink-and-you'll-miss-it holsom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-14
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 11:46:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8843479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hydrochaeris/pseuds/hydrochaeris
Summary: Dex is all sharp angry lines that Nursey wants to soften. Nursey wants to see the tension locked tight in Dex’s shoulders release, his forehead free of creases, his mouth free of scowl. He wants Dex’s knuckles a normal pasty shade rather than the tense ghostly white they always seem to be. But if Dex can’t—won’t—understand where Nursey’s coming from, then what’s the fucking point?Or: five times Nursey feels something about Dex, and one time he does something about it.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mocrow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mocrow/gifts).



> for [mocrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mocrow)! i hope you like it!  
> i owe so much of the coherency of this fic to my beta, [phee](http://brunch-at-jerrys.tumblr.com), who is a phee-nomenal person.  
> as for the warnings: please know that this fic talks about mental illness a considerable amount. yes, for those of you who've been reading my fics since the beginning, that recurring theme is finally back! racism is also discussed. additional warnings that contain spoilers are in the end notes, where there's also a lot of talk about nursey's sister who i adore.  
> this was kind of supposed to be a slow burn, but we all know i am far too impatient for that shit. the title is from carly rae jepsen's song warm blood.

      0.

Nursey’s good at repressing his emotions. It’s half the way he appears to other people, half the depression. The point is—he doesn’t really think he’s good at a lot of shit, but repressing things? Hell yeah. He’s got that down.

The only time anything he feels gets to come out and live is on paper. He fills up notebooks at an almost frantic pace, word after word after sentence after sentence; it never ends; there’s always more for him to say.

He looks at the ink on the page. _That about sums it up._ He looks at his rage scrawled out and the sadness and the guilt and the fear, almost carved into the paper. _That’s enough for one day._ Because that’s the thing—you can file notebooks away, into your tired old bookshelves, and never touch them again. You don’t get that lucky with feelings.

It’s not even that he’s good at poetry, or expressing how he feels through it. It’s that that’s the only way he can.

 

  1. anger



Everything about Dex is annoying. Specifically, in this very moment, it’s his hair. More mellow orange than carrot colored, it’s the only thing mellow about Dex. Which is why his hair isn’t yellow. Because then he’d be chill. Mellow yellow. Ha ha.

Dex wants to talk about privilege, and it’s not—fun? Is that what people think of their arguments? That they’re just arguing for the hell of it, that they actually get something out of them?

Nursey is not a person who yells, ever, but Dex insisting that being poor sucks ass (as if Nursey would contradict that) while refusing to acknowledge his whiteness makes his life suck a lot less ass than someone who isn’t—okay, he’s getting a rise out of him, whatever. Nursey is very fucking aware of class, thank you. He has relatives who are not nearly as fortunate as him, his sister, and his parents. He understands the often terrible necessity of frugality even if he’s never had to experience it firsthand.

But Dex doesn’t know what microaggressions are. He doesn’t know how it feels when someone touches his hair without permission, like he’s an animal in a petting zoo. He doesn’t know how it feels to get into an elevator and have the white woman next to him reflexively clutch her purse tighter. He doesn’t know how it feels to not see people like him represented in media, even just as extras in the background.

So sue him, Nursey’s a little angry. He doesn’t even realize how much it’s fucking getting to him until his weekly phone call with Jordan.

“—like, he won’t even listen to me and then says _I’m_ not listening, when it feels like all I do is listen to his stupid fucking rants about—”

“Being Republican. Right, you went over it,” she says. “Little bro. Littlest of brothers. Tiniest of tots.”

“I’m five inches taller than you, Jord.”

“Why do you care? You’ve dealt with ignorants before. Why does it matter to you? What’s different about him?”

“You’re psychoanalyzing me over the phone. Really?”

“Our family is a melting pot of mental health problems, so my becoming a therapist was destined. But I’m not psychoanalyzing. I’m _wondering_. Because it’s been twenty minutes, and you haven’t shut up about this guy or even asked me about my week yet. Plus, that’s eighteen more minutes than our phone calls usually average.”

“Harsh.”

“But true. Now that I’m asking the questions, you don’t have any answers for me? Your best sister? Your most beautiful sister? Your—”

“Only sister,” Nursey says. “Okay. I’ll think about it. It’s complicated. Everything about him is complicated.”

Jordan snorts. “I thought it was all black and white.”

“Okay, fuck that pun, firstly, and secondly, I said I’ll think about it. You know I don’t think just for anyone.”

She laughs at that. Nursey misses hearing her laugh in person, when they were younger and it didn’t have that little ironic edge that’s only hardened over time. It makes him more nostalgic than he had planned on being today, and he wishes—not for the first time—that she hadn’t moved to China for her grad school program. It’s fine, obviously. Chill, but lonely. Or whatever.

Okay, he can admit it. It fucking sucks.

“I love you, kid,” she says, like she knows what he’s thinking, even from continents away. She probably does. Jordan is fucking incredible like that.

“I love you too, Jord. Okay. Enough about me. How was your week?”

 

  1. attraction



He tries writing about how the light flashes a brilliant, hot red in Dex’s eyes and flares a responding flame in Nursey’s chest, how Dex’s fingers are deft and strong whether he’s tapping at keys or gripping a hockey stick, how he walks into Dex shirtless and dripping wet in the lockers one day, and neither of them do anything, just move on past because it happens, and it’s nothing, and—

Nursey’s good at English. He’s good at themes. He’s picking up on one of those here.

This is not the first time he’s been physically attracted to a guy, but it probably _is_ the first time that he’s been physically attracted to someone whose personality doesn’t mesh with his in the slightest.

So there’s your answer, Jordan. Dex is all sharp angry lines that Nursey wants to soften. Nursey wants to see the tension locked tight in Dex’s shoulders release, his forehead free of creases, his mouth free of scowl. He wants Dex’s knuckles a normal pasty shade rather than the tense ghostly white they always seem to be. But if Dex can’t—won’t—understand where Nursey’s coming from, then what’s the fucking point?

He stops writing about Dex after that. Stores away what he’s written in his bookshelf, perfectly put. A neat little box full of emotions that he won’t be experiencing again.

He ignores how his blood runs hot when he sees the Republican sticker on Dex’s laptop. He ignores how he sees Dex hanging out with a kid in one of his Shakespeare interpretation classes who is definitely conservative, if his comments in class are anything to go by. He ignores, ignores, ignores, represses, represses, represses.

He’s good at this. It’s chill.

 

  1. confused



It’s a little fucking weird when he has the best practice run with Dex that they’ve had in a while, when they actually click. It’s even weirder when Dex comes up to him afterward and says, “You want to get something at Annie’s?”

“Sure,” Nursey says, because why not? He’s got nothing against Dex. Not anymore.

They walk in silence except for one of Dex’s small kitten sneezes. Nursey’s not even sure if anything comes out of those or if it’s just a sound. A cute, tiny sound. Anyway.

“So,” Dex says while they’re in line. “I, uh. I took off the Republican sticker. From my laptop.”

He’s not looking at Nursey, and Nursey decides to take the lack of eye contact as a challenge.

“Cool, man. You want a cookie?”

“No, I’m getting an omelet,” says Dex. Nursey can tell he’s not being willfully ignorant, so that’s nice, he supposes.

Also irritating. Definitely irritating.

“I was talking to Ransom about his pre-med work,” Dex continues. “It’s really interesting, but, uh, not the kind of doctor stuff I’m interested in? I think you said your sister’s a therapist?”

“Yeah,” Nursey says, startled into speaking more than anything else, and the conversation continues, in this new, tentative space where they have common ground about something that’s not angry. Something that’s actually about _resolving_ anger.

“I know I have, uh, issues,” Dex says at one point, and Nursey has to will himself to not snap his head up from his tea. “With anger. It’s kind of admirable, your… _chill_.”

He says the word with such nuanced delicacy that Nursey wants to laugh, because what the fuck?

“My chill is at least half my depression,” he says, and okay, it’s oversharing time. That’s always fun. “It’s not a… healthy chill. You should—when I said that you should chill, I meant, like, in a healthy way.”

Dex nods. He is staring at Nursey’s forehead. Maybe there’s something on it. Or maybe it’s because Nursey still isn’t quite meeting his eyes.

“I think it’d be nice to help kids like me, kids who hold a lot of anger in themselves. I dunno, I guess I should work through my own problems first.”

Nursey does smile at that. He lets himself look at Dex, oddly vulnerable in the strange lighting of Annie’s, and takes a moment to recognize what’s different. He looks lighter—like talking to Nursey took a weight off his shoulders. _Oh_ , Nursey thinks.

“Have you been diagnosed with anything?” he says.

“No,” Dex says quickly. “No, but there’s something, you know? At least, I think there is. It feels—it really feels like there is.”

“It helps,” Nursey says, taking another sip of his tea. “Getting diagnosed—I mean, it helped me. Now it’s, like, okay, that feeling’s not healthy—that’s a symptom of whatever, right? It’s very...” He pauses. “Validating.”

Dex nods again. He drinks from his cup (black coffee, _nasty_ ) and rests his other hand on top of the table.

“I was diagnosed when I was thirteen,” Nursey says, staring at Dex’s hand. “But my parents were too skittish to let me go on meds, and after I left home, I never got around to it. I don’t know if they’d make things better or if I’d feel, like, too reliant.”

“That would suck,” Dex agrees.

By the time they leave, Nursey has had three cups of tea because he feels guilty taking up space in a shop without buying anything, and he really has to pee. But they’ve talked, and he thinks something’s changed. Hopes. He hopes something’s changed.

 

  1. hopeful



While alcohol makes Dex unreasonably chill, it makes Nursey lose his verbal filter completely. But it’s fine, because Dex insists on walking Nursey back to his dorm, his hand a solid, warm presence on Nursey’s arm. That is very, very fine.

“Shit,” he blurts out approximately five feet from his dorm door. “Jordan.”

Dex cocks his head to the side. It’s terribly cute.

“Who’s Jordan?”

“My older sister. Whose fucking idea was it to have a kegster on a Sunday, oh my _god_ —”

“Hey, chill,” Dex says. He looks a little smug around the eyes. Nursey does not care, though; really and truly he does not. “What’s wrong with Jordan and kegsters on Sundays?”

“I need to fucking call my sister so she doesn’t think I’m dead where is my phone,” Nursey says, by way of explanation.

“In your—no, not there—not there—that’s literally just your armpit— _here_ ,” Dex says, pulling Nursey’s phone in one swift motion from his back pocket. “You are a fucking mess.”

“I’m a fucking _drunk_ mess,” Nursey corrects. “It’s fine. This isn’t the first time this has happened.”

“You know, you talk more when you’re drunk, but you still have perfect grammar.”

“I’m a _writerrrrrr_ ,” Nursey says, only slurring a little. “It’s my _gift_.”

“Okay, Shel Silverstein,” Dex says. Nursey takes his phone and punches in Jordan’s number as fast as he can.

“Derek? Isn’t it like two in the morning over there?”

“Kegster,” Nursey says. Dex awkwardly turns away and walks toward to the other end of the hallway, clearly trying to give Nursey privacy. Why didn’t he think to dial _after_ entering his room? “Calling so you don’t think I’m dead.”

“How sweet,” she says. “You are, however, wasted as fuck.”

“Yup.” He pops the ‘p.’ “How was your week?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how was your getting your act together regarding D—”

“DO NOT SPEAK HIS NAME,” Nursey says, perhaps a tad more dramatically than necessary. “Sorry, can we talk about you? Pretty please?”

“No way, littlest Nurse. I want deets on—him, and I want them now.”

“Your timing suuuuuuuucks.”

“Why? Is he—oh my god, is he there?”

“ _Can you keep your fucking voice down_ ,” Nursey maybe yells, just the tiniest bit. “And yes. I am being walked back to my dorm because I am a hazard to myself and others when inxoti—intoci—in- _tox_ -i-cated.”

“Mostly yourself,” Jordan says.

“Okay yes anyways I love you! Keep having fun for me over there!”

“As long as my version of ‘fun’ isn’t the same as yours, kid. I love you.” She ends the call, and Nursey slides his phone back into his pocket.

“Oh, hey, I’m shirtless,” he notices, looking down. “Dex? Dex, where’s my shirt?”

Dex’s ears are bright pink for some reason.

“Do you have your key, Nursey?” The question ends on a yawn, which is just as kitten-small as Dex’s sneezes. Frankly, there are a lot of comparisons to be made between Dex and a kitten. The most prominent one being that kittens like to scratch Nursey and he’d much prefer they just curl up with him and purr.

“Oh. Yeah. I do.” He fishes in his other back pocket for it and unlocks the door with minimal fumbling. Success! Take that, alcohol!

“Take what?” Dex says, bemused.

“Uh, nothing, I am a very cool person,” he says, stumbling into his room. Thankfully, it’s a single. Nursey is too much of a trainwreck to live with other people.

“Wow, that’s a shitload of journals,” Dex says, and immediately steps back. “Shit, sorry, I should mind my own business. Uh, I’ll be going now, congrats on not dying tonight, hope you sleep off the worst of your hangover!”

“What? Nah, it’s cool, you can look.” Nursey holds the door open even more. He realizes vaguely that this is not his smartest decision, letting a boy—for whom he has very mixed feelings—into his private space to look at his most private thoughts. But then again, he’s not sure Dex understands metaphors, so it’s probably fine if he reads the poetry.

Dex hesitates before stepping over the threshold and closing the door behind him. They are suddenly very, very close. Nursey leaps stomach-first onto his bed because he needs to be farther away from Dex right now and that’s obviously the smart way to do it.

“Uh, so yeah,” Nursey says, awkwardly maneuvering himself into a semi-sitting position on his bed. “You can look at the journals now. If you want.”

Dex kind of looks like the notebooks might bite him if he touches them, so Nursey grabs one for him at random.

“Here.”

He opens it and Dex peers down, tilting his head because Nursey does a poor job of holding the notebook steady.

“Your handwriting really sucks.”

“Only when I’m upset and writing fast,” Nursey says, and ah, there’s his lack of filter, _again_. “So yeah. That’s some of the shit I do when I’m, y’know, angry.”

“I do know angry,” Dex says. He looks amused. “I should teach you how to fix something one day. Or change a tire. Do you know how to do that?”

“I’m from Manhattan,” Nursey says. When it becomes clear that Dex needs elaboration, he says, “We do not like cars in the city. Or, at least, in my part of the city. Cars are unnecessary. Legs are useful for doing things that tires might attempt to.”

“So it’s pedestrian-friendly,” Dex says slowly.

“Oh hell no.”

He bends his head to read more of Nursey’s writing when it becomes clear that Nursey isn’t willing to explain that one.

“You can sit on my bed if you want.”

Nursey finds himself looking at Dex looking at him. He didn’t know he was going to say that. He should probably use alcohol with more moderation in the future.

Dex sits on the bed, and Nursey feels himself exhale for some reason. Probably because he is a dramatic person and things like this come naturally to him.

Everything gets a little fuzzier after that. Dex reads more poetry, but neither of them can stop yawning, and they don’t really talk, just sort of shuffle their way into a position that could be considered cuddling, if they were closer friends. Not whatever the fuck they are.

Nursey can’t sleep off his hangover, not even when he hears Dex’s snores coming from the foot of the bed. He needs the covers over him before he can do anything close to a full sleep cycle. And he can’t have the covers over him when Dex is over them, pinning them in place.

 

  1. good



Getting Annie’s isn’t, like, Nursey and Dex’s _thing_ or anything, except that it totally is. They’ve gone every Thursday for the past few months. So seeing Dex there with a random guy—who is at least not the conservative from Nursey’s class—is a little fucking unsettling. He does not march over and set down his Earl Grey, because he is a polite-ass person and was raised in high society and all that fuckery. He makes his way over very normally and typically—by tripping over a chair leg and dropping his teacup. Thankfully, because Nursey is _fantastic_ at _everything_ , Dex catches his tea before anything truly horrible can happen.

“Uh, catch you later, James,” Dex says, and the guy leaves. Nursey had predicted that that would happen upon falling over dramatically. Obviously. That’s why he did it.

On an unrelated note, Nursey hates the name James. Has it always been the worst possible name out of all names ever, or is that just a recent thing? It’s probably not. It’s probably always just been, you know, disgusting.

“Earl Grey is the worst tea,” Dex says conversationally as Nursey takes the seat that James vacated. He sets said tea on the table and raises an eyebrow. He is so— _good_ for Nursey, it’s unbearable. Nursey loves it about him.

Nursey loves him.

Huh.

This is a bad time to know things. He’s just going to pretend he never knew that. Knew what? It’s chill. He’s chill.

“Mint is better,” says Dex, and okay, okay, _no._

“Mint sucks ass and tastes like hot toothpaste water and is the worst,” Nursey says. Dex raises his other eyebrow and Nursey realizes just how fast he was talking.

“Your perfect aura of chill! You’ve disrupted it!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Nursey grouches, and Dex grins.

“Ah, it’s back.”

“You can’t even talk. You like _black coffee_. Which tastes like dirt and sadness.”

“Yeah, but you’re so pretentious that you still drink tea, so who’s the real loser here?” Dex says. “Oh wait. It’s you.”

“Actually, it’s James,” Nursey says, before he can stop himself. Dex frowns.

“James was giving me the class notes because I skipped a lecture in American History. He’s nice.”

“Mmm” is all Nursey can muster to preserve his dignity. “Anyway, I’m your favorite person to go Annie’s with, right?”

Dex tilts his head. _Confused kitten,_ Nursey thinks. _The most adorable confused kitten I have ever seen in my entire life._

“I don’t go to Annie’s with anyone else? Unless it’s, like, a team thing.”

Nursey wraps his hands around his delicious steaming Earl Grey and takes a long sip. Dex is smart. Dex can figure out what Nursey is trying to telepathically communicate to avoid actually saying anything.

“Are you,” Dex says, and stops. Nursey raises his eyebrows. He can’t raise one eyebrow at a time, because he is cool and not a weirdo who tried to perfect that certain skill for hours at a time, in front of a mirror, with no success.  “Are you jealous of James? He’s just a guy in my class, we’re not even close friends.”

“We’re close friends?” Nursey says, and, yes, good, open mouth, insert foot, BLOOP, perfect.

Dex’s head lists to the other side now. He needs to stop distracting Nursey with how cute he is about everything. It’s definitely the only reason that Nursey isn’t doing so well in this conversation right now.

“Why… wouldn’t we be?”

“We used to hate each other,” Nursey says, because he is not a man, but a machine made with one purpose and one purpose only: the intention to self-destruct. Yeah, remind your bestie that you used to literally want to kill each other with how angry you got. That’s a constructive, healthy thing to do! Congratulations, Derek. That was definitely the right decision!

“Yeah,” Dex says, his words slow and deliberate, like maybe Nursey isn’t getting something he should be getting. “We _used to_. In the past. We don’t hate each other anymore. It’s nice.”

“What’s nice?” Nursey says. Partly because he’s an asshole and partly because he wants to hear Dex say it again.

Dex rolls his eyes. “It’s nice that we don’t fight anymore. It’s nice that you have a better perspective on working-class people and I’ve tried to educate myself and develop a better understanding of race now. It’s really, really nice.” He’s looking at Nursey a little shyly, grin starting at the corners of his mouth, blushing a mild, sweet pink. “Yeah?”

“Oh,” Nursey breathes. Dex’s hand is resting on top of the table and he understands his fixation now. He covers it with his own, squeezing a little. Dex’s eyes sparkle with how hard he’s trying not to smile. Nursey loves him so fucking much. “It kind of sucks that we’re at Annie’s, because I want to do things to you that aren’t appropriate in a public place.”

Dex’s ears go bright red.

“Um.”

“But first,” Nursey says, because he is the worst and acknowledges that freely, “I want to finish my Earl Grey.”

 

+1. love

“Hey,” Nursey says upon entering the attic. Ransom and Holster had bequeathed it to them their last year, their only instruction being to get a better bed, because bunk bed sex is just not where it’s at. Dex puts the pill bottle back on their shared dresser immediately, looking guilty.

“I wasn’t—sorry—I didn’t mean to pry, I just—”

“You’re good,” Nursey says softly. “I was gonna tell you. I don’t think poetry is the healthiest coping mechanism. Or at least, not the way I’ve been using it. So I’m on meds now, and I’m also doing slam poetry at Annie’s. You can come if you want.”

Dex nods, then crosses the room in several long strides to kiss him. Nursey puts a hand at the base of Dex’s skull and the other on his hip, pulling him in deeper, until he breaks away to kiss some of the freckles on Dex’s nose.

“I’m proud of you,” Dex says. “That dusty-ass bookshelf of journals was really fucking me up, from the moment I saw it. I can demolish it with a hammer if you want.”

“Aw, babe, I love it when you talk dirty to me,” Nursey says, then cackles. Dex presses his lips together in lieu of laughing along. “Nah, but how fucking symbolic is that? You destroying my unhealthy shit?”

“You destroy your own unhealthy shit,” Dex corrects. “I am your number one cheerleader and all, but seriously, that’s not how mental health works.”

“It’s a _metaphor_ ,” Nursey says, but Dex just shakes his head. “Okay, okay. You’re an amazing boyfriend, but you do not solve all my problems, because that’s not how mental health works. Thanks for telling me the only thing Jord ever says to me on the phone anymore.”

Dex shrugs. “You’re welcome.” His face crinkles into a grin, and Nursey walks them backward to the bed as Dex giggles because he is ridiculous and has a horrible sense of humor that includes laughing at things that are truly not funny.

He’d be lying if it didn’t make him love Dex even more, though. And Nursey is trying not to lie to himself too much anymore.

He boops Dex’s nose because he knows it’ll make him frown and grab Nursey’s wrist, and they wrestle a little before curling up next to each other like parentheses, just lying next to each other, smiling.

“We’re disgusting,” Nursey mumbles. It’s kind of undermined by the fact that he can’t stop grinning, but whatever.

“Disgustingly cute,” Dex says. He buries his smile in Nursey’s neck. Nursey puts an arm around him to get them closer and breathes in the afternoon sunlight and thinks that he should flesh out the outline of his latest essay, that he should get something to eat with Dex later today, that he should call Jordan tomorrow and listen to her recount the latest drama with her girlfriend’s theatre company. But right now he’s good to stay here, feeling happy and fulfilled—feeling like he deserves to just feel this, just like this.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> nursey lets dex read his private journals when he's pretty schwasted, and dex finds some of nursey's personal stuff by accident because nursey left it out in their room.
> 
> AND NOW THAT WE'RE AT THE END I CAN TALK ABOUT JORDAN. jordan is a therapist who caters specifically to black youth. she was originally a business major, which is how she got the idea to start her own business in the first place. she is extremely hardworking and thus has _weekly_ , not daily phone calls with derek--she is SO INCREDIBLY BUSY. plus she has a girlfriend who is afro-latinx who co-runs a theatre company with her best friends, but i'm getting off topic. jordan has ocd, which is why she and derek used to clash over a lot of shit before she got diagnosed, realized OH that’s why the fuck i do what i do, told him, and he’s been trying to make up for it ever since even though he couldn’t have known. she’s the one who pushed for derek to get his depression formally diagnosed when he was 13, because she’s overprotective as hell and as soon as she figured out that his ‘chill’ wasn’t just due to him not wanting to be stereotyped, she wanted to get him help asap. their parents didn’t want to put derek on meds (she tried to fight them on that but she and derek were both minors at the time so like. not a lot could be done there) and she's tried not to bug him about it, but like, please. she’s seen how they make life so much better for other people. she just wants derek to be able to feel like any chemically balanced person—happy. additionally, part of the reason she and derek are so damn close is because they had to deal with mentally ill parents who did not ‘believe’ in mental illness, or at least could not see that they had mental illnesses, and also it was just the two of them in that big house whenever their parents went off on a cruise somewhere and left them home alone. does this all add in to why jordan is so protective of derek? you betcha. and okay i'm truly done now but if you want to talk to me about jordan... please. i will love you forever.


End file.
